His Last Words
by GraySnowie
Summary: Sherlock is dying on a hospital bed far from home. The only person to come and be by his side is Molly Hooper, the girl who had left London years ago to start fresh to try and move on from Sherlock.


Molly Hooper sprinted to the hospital after a distressed John Watson called her to inform her of Sherlock's critical condition. His words replayed through her mind on a loop.

"Molly? Uh…hi this is John. I know we haven't talked in a while, but Sherlock and I came to Northern Ireland to work on a case a few days ago. He just got in an accident and I'm on my way, but could you please stay by his side? I know this is a lot to ask, especially with your guys' history. But please. I think the main reason he even accepted this case was because it was near where you lived."

Molly felt sharp rocks and cracks cut at the bottom of her feet as she ran. She carried her stiletto black heels in her hand. She abruptly stopped at the front doors of the hospital to brush through her hair and put her shoes back on. She stepped through the doors and grabbed her white lab coat and a clipboard. She couldn't let Sherlock know that she still cared. She was a worker, not a visitor.

Sherlock lay alone in the room on his hospital bed. His breathing was slow and quiet. He heard the door slide and someone step into the room. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell who it was.

"Hello Molly."

"Hello Sherlock." Molly stepped closer to his bed and checked the readings of the machine hooked up to him. It had been years since Molly last saw him. She moved on long ago, or at least tried to. She couldn't go on living the way she did, clinging onto the fantasy that Sherlock would one day come to the realization that he loved her. She had to leave London and start fresh. That was the only way she could move on. And here he was, in Northern Ireland, in pursuit of a dangerous case. Molly sighed. One would have to move to the other side of the world to get away from him.

"Congratulations on the engagement. Again. I hope he isn't anything like Tom," Sherlock scoffed. "I see that your engagement ring is quite worn and aged. Meaning you still haven't married, hesitation perhaps? Or maybe he just proposed to you with an old and used ring. Hurry and leave him Molly. It's obviously not going to work out. Again."

Molly pretended to write something important on her clipboard. He never changed. He was still so rude, but she could still feel the emotional impact he had on her, even after not seeing him for so long.

"You always say such horrible things." She frowned. Not because of his comment, but because she didn't think he had much time left. Could he really hold out until Watson came?

"I am sorry. Forgive me, Molly Hooper. I'm just feeling a bit irritable, being on my deathbed and all. I don't have much time left do I?" Sherlock inquired.

"No. And don't expect me to cry."

"No. Of course not." Sherlock could see that she changed. She was better at concealing her emotions, but only slightly. She had certainly toughened up. He felt a twinge of annoyance. How could she not cry for him? But he couldn't help but feel a little glad. He wouldn't break sweet Molly's heart yet again.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry."

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

She huffed and continued, "When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked…sad."

"Molly," Sherlock said in a warning tone.

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you."

Sherlock looked at her. Truly looked. Maybe she hadn't changed as much as he thought.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Don't just say you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"You can see me."

"I don't count," she whispered with a sad smile.

Sherlock widened his eyes; he was at a loss for words. Was that really what she thought?

After a short pause he admitted, "You're wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."

Molly felt a sharp pain. Like something was breaking inside her. She had spent all these years trying to move on. Trying to forget. And here he was, dying, and admitting that she counted to him. She choked back a sob. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said shakily.

"Molly, I'm going to die."

"What do you need?"

"After everything I did, everything I've done to you. Would you still want to help me?"

He turned his hand over, palm up. Molly didn't hesitate to place her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

"You." He breathed the word with his final breath.

The heart monitor stopped beeping in time with his heartbeat and reached a flatline.


End file.
